At the Bottom of Everything
by Amberjean
Summary: In the zombie apocalypse, I never thought I would find myself so enamored with a certain redneck. I bet he also didn't think he'd find me sick, incoherent, and half naked in the woods. Daryl/OC
1. Chapter 1

So, I've wanted to start a Daryl fanfiction since The Walking Dead came out, and I was finally hit with some inspiration like three years later! I hope you guys all like this! I will be sticking to the story line for the most part. Please review and let me know what you think and if I should continue!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead.

* * *

I hear my rapid breathing, it mixes in with the greens, yellows, and brown of the woods, all a blurred concoction swirling around me. I have no idea where I am. My head lulls side to side, feeling like a sack of sand attached to my neck, slowly sloshing and spilling out onto the dirt as I stagger forward. Where was I going again? I can't think of a place, just the colors around me coming in and out of focus of my vision, like little tendrils of smoke wafting around. I reach out to touch one of the dancing hues of green, only to fumble though the empty air. Was there nothing there?

My hand seems foreign in front of me, and I wonder if it's mine. Not realizing I am now still, I raise the alien extremity in front of my face, wiggling the fingers slowly. They are stained with soil, cut and the nails untrimmed. Surely this isn't mine?

I suddenly zone out of the hand, that I can't be sure who's is, I should find the owner and return it, and make my way into the dancing trees again. Their bark wheezes, as if breathing, and the branches creek and ache as they stretch out and curl around me. I laugh, the sound tinkling in my ear. I trace the trees and feel them under my finger tips, I swear I can feel the pump of their blood beneath their trunks. They are living thing's, so they must have blood? I entertain the thought. Yes, it must be true, nothing else can explain the way they live right here around me, calling out and swaying. I feel my lips upturn at the notion. I want to be a tree.

The trees abruptly change, instead of inviting me in, expelling and quivering in anger. Have I upset them? Maybe I shouldn't know their secret. I have to run. I take off, my feet pounding on the ground. Or maybe that's my heartbeat. I just have to escape the ents around me, I feel their fury growing inside of me, reading to explode. They reach for the air, movements quick and uncoordinated, snapping into place like broken bones. I feel them snagging on my t-shirt, trying to rip into my skin. They want to tear my pale flesh clean off, so they can wear it and be a human just like I wanted to be a tree.

There's screaming all around me, high pitched and squealing like a pig, echoing around my brain and making me clutch it in my hands as I sprint. Where is it coming from? The trees? Yelling to each other and at me for intruding into their land? I whimper, clutching at my fiery locks of hair, I can feel the roots straining under me, I just want it to stop. I want the screaming to stop.

A branch comes burrowing out of the dirt, shooting through the land and snarling my foot in it's grasp. I hit the ground running, head colliding into the forest floor. I don't feel the impact, just the ringing in my ears, and the reverberating of my brain making contact with my skull. My lungs have no air, I gape like a fish flapping on land, wind knocked clean out of me. Then oxygen flows in, I gasp, trying to suck in the life. Then there's the screeching again. Everything around me is seeping together, creating a giant picture I can't make out, molding into one. It frightens me, unlike before when it was whimsical and enchanting. This was dark and bloodcurdling.

I bury my hands into the dirt as I try to crawl, the ent's are still after me. Where am I going again? I can still hear the howling, it's all around me, suffocating me. It''s tortured and makes me weep, the tears streaming down my reddened cheeks are hot, blurring my already skewed vision.

My vocal cords feel coarse, and my throat burns. I realize the yelling is mine. Then silence. I lay. My head feels like it's on fire, and a veil of sweat coats my body. It's burning up. Incoherently I wiggle out of my shirt and skinny pants, somehow getting them over the black combat boots attached to my feet, trying to fight off the heat. Humid air clings to me, making it nearly unbearable. Where was I? I touch my skin, squirming and uncomfortable. The sensation of the dirt under me and my own prodding is strange. Like I'm digging into my flesh and scooping piles out while at the same time stitching it back on. It frustrates me. My fears of the trees disappear.

What was I running from? I can't think of the answer, so I roll onto my back in a haze to stare up at the blue of the sky. I feel the pulsating of blood rushing to my brain, creating a headache that makes me groan out loud. My eyes flutter close, hiding the green iris's from the harsh Georgia sun. I just want to not be able to see. The world is swimming and strange, so maybe if I keep my eyes shut, everything will disappear.

It doesn't. Instead, I see a thousand lights flickering and flashing in the darkness, like little fireflies made out of rainbows. They remind me of when I was young and always wanted to go find a swarm of them. I never could. So, I would watch the flashing of car lights speeding by as a replacement. I guess this is what I always wanted. To see my fireflies. I don't know what triggers the old forgotten memory, but it seems to bring me out of my stupor into a moment of clarity.

Im in the wood's. I'm lost. I'm sick.

Then, I'm back to my feverish antics, looking at the small patch of moss growing in my peripheral. It glistens, and I picture my skin probably looking the same with sweat. I want to touch it, but my arm seems to be be numb. Maybe I lost it.

All there is is me, and the wood's. We are one. My body sinks into the ground, and little feathers of grass sprout out of my naked skin. I hope I look like an earth nymph. Maybe someday, someone will stumble upon me here, one with the forest, my tomb the nature embracing me.

There's a rustle to my left, and it takes all my will to turn my head to the side. Has someone already found me? Has it already been a hundred years that passed in a blink of an eye?

Amidst all the colors of the woods, there's a blotch of darkness winding towards me. Straining my eye's, I can make out the gimp of a man. Or perhaps another nymph or ent? I can't be for certain what mythical creature has ventured close by. The sky rumbles, hissing out. If I have upset the heavens like I did the Earths, I fear I can't run anymore.

The mysterious figure moves in at a lethargic pace, I can pick out more and more about it as it draws closer. Torn white button up. Its fluttering around him. I think it might actually be large wings, which are soaked in grime and blood. A fallen angel who had their wings clipped and sent to fall to the Earth. My vision crosses and I can no longer make anything out, just shapes and blurs.

I wonder if the sky groaning is actually this fallen angel, calling out in despair. Now, I'm almost certain it is. My subconscious shivers, I know this thing is dangerous. Why can't I move? My sight finally focuses again, right onto the torn apart lips on his face. A piece of lip dangles onto his chin, and it's decaying mouth is oozing dark goo as feral guttural noises escape him.

He was no fallen angel, he was a demon sent straight from the depths of hell itself.

Bracing my weight on my paralyzed arms, I push myself up, feet unsteady on the ground for only a second before I go limp and slam into the floor once again, face meeting the dirt in reacquaintence. I feel it all this time, it's unsurpassed. My hearing fuzzes out. Dread sweeps over me like a blanket. I'm confused. A ringing starts in my left ear, buzzing like an agitated bee. Maybe there was one flying around me.

Forcing my eyes open, I can see the demon only feet from me, reaching out and speeding up. It's only a few seconds til he reaches me. I cant look away even though its all I want. I don't want to see him get to me. So why can't I tear my gaze?

Something whizzes through the air, and just like that he drop's like a sack.

Suddenly, a ruff hand grabs my shoulder, and it feels like it's melting into my back. Was somebody here? Another demon? Reality blurs as I'm flipped over, the ringing picking up. Where am I? Who am I? Why does my head feel like it's going to explode?

I can barely make out the silhouette of a man kneeling over me, rays of sun cascading behind his head. He lean's forward, and I can make out the movement of his lips. He's talking, but all I see is his mouth move. They fascinate me, and I try to understand and read his lips. Was this what it's like to be deaf? There's freckles of dirt around them, and I can make out a dusting of facial hair.

Repositioning on his knee, he's right in my face.

"You...listening...are...bit?" The word's all fuse and sound drawn out and slow, as if I could reach out and pluck them out of thin air. I don't care about that though, I care about the eye's I can now see since he leaned in. They pierce right into mine, baby blues shifting with frustration. He blinks, and long eyelashes sit upon his cheeks for a fleeting moment, kissing his tan skin. I want to touch them, but I can't move, and I have a feeling he would slap my fingers away.

He looks like a real angel.

Then all there is, is black.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! I'm really excited about the response so far, I feel like for the first chapter of an OC story, I got a very lovely amount of feedback! Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites. It means so much. I hope you all like this chapter as well! Once again, please don't forget to review! (:

Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead.

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I try to fight the bridge of consciousness and unconsciousness. I can feel the swaying of my body, but I'm not the one moving. Is somebody caring me?

My eye's fight their way open, and sunlight burns straight into my cornea, forcing me to clamp them shut. The light feel's like a hammer smashing into my head. I try to move my hand to cover them, but my limbs are still numb, only wiggling to my command. A flash of fear that I have had them amputated assaults me.

"Ya awake, girl?" someone asks, startling me. I pry my eyes back open, trying to squint to avoid the sun. The world is still a haze, making it hard to focus on anything that isn't flashing or swirling by. But, I can see him. I thought he was figment of my imagination, an angel swooped down to console me as I died. But, here he is, looking down at me with a scowl. His hair is a halo of dirty brown, or maybe blonde, covered in enough grime it appears brown. He fades out, even though I want to keep taking the stranger in. Is this even real? Or am I still crawling through the woods? I feel the darkness sweeping in again, trying to lure me into it's emptiness.

"Hey! I asked you a question, you deaf or somethin'?" he snaps, shaking me temporarily out of unconsciousness.

It takes all that I have to try and speak. And even though my vocal cords tremble and my mouth opens and closes with unspoken words, I can't form a sentence or even a syllable. My brain feels like it's coated in fog, jumbling everything together and leaving me mute. I want to talk. I want to tell him I can hear everything he's saying. Instead, I pass back out in his arms.

* * *

Choppy sentences that make no sense to me start to trickle in.

_"Who is that?!"_

The voices penetrate the darkness around me. I'm not sure if my mind is talking to itself or if I really hear snippets of people's conversations.

_"Sophia?!" _A woman's voice, and even in this state I can hear her hope.

It's like I'm in a bubble of black, everything inside it separate from the world outside, and drifting around me are words, sentences, and letters that have managed to pierce the veil. Some sound muffled as if I'm under water, and others clear as day.

_"What do we do with her?"_

_"We have to get going to the farm with the others. Can we risk bringing her with?"_

_"Well we ain't gonna leave her on the side of the road, I'll tell ya that much."_

I recognize his voice, the only one to stick out amongst all the unfamiliar. In a way it alleviates my fears.

I have no idea of time that passes. I hear rumbling and the steady hum of something under me. I recede back into my bubble.

_"Daryl found her...checked to see...not bit..."_

I think I've been moved again, there's warmth radiating around me and I feel snug against something. I can smell the woods, mixed with musk, the tang of blood, and an underlining of sweat.

_"How's Carl?"_

_ "..name was Otis...sacrificed his life...Shane made it back.."_

Frustration builds inside me, all I want is to break out of this shell and see what's going on and what people are talking about. I can barely tune in enough to catch some of the conversation before my mind slips back into oblivion.

_"Somethin' wrong with her...screamin' like a banshee...look right past me...ain't talkin' and got a fever as hot as hell..."_

_ "Bring her into the house..."_

Movement all around me, rushing by and uncoordinated. The weight of people picking up my limbs and placing their hands against my forehead. What was happening to me?

_"Get fluids, and an IV started."_

_ "Laceration on her back...nasty infection..."_

_ "Low blood pressure...tachycardia..."_

_ "Surprised she's made it this long..."  
_ I think they're talking about me. Am I dying? I still have no idea where I am or what is happening, or who these people are that talk about things I can't understand. Fear drapes over me like a cold night, sending chills down my back and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

_"She's shaking violently.."_

All I can see is inky black. There are no fireflies swimming around, just darkness. The noise around me is fading fast, becoming a silent hum in the back of my mind. Dread surrounds me. I'm scared.

_"She's fading..."_

* * *

I spring forward, sights and smells rushing at me as I wake up. I gasp and sputter in air, looking around hastily. The room is unfamiliar, white walls and old furniture sparsely decorating the small space. I vaguely remember whats happened, a flash of woods, the man bathed in sunlight. And now I am sitting in a small bed, cream bedsheets draped over me. I try to make out what is truth and what is false. Did I make up all the images slowly flooding my memory? The last I know of that really happened was me running down the highway, dripping crimson from the gash on my leg as I went. Absentmindedly, I go to trace the wound, but instead of finger-tips meeting skin, there is a layer of gauze wrapped tight around my thin thigh. Somebody has patched me up. I'm only in my black underwear, I remember clawing my way out of my clothes in the woods, which apparently have been left behind. I wrap the sheet around myself, feeling exposed.

I lower my feet to the ground, the floorboards chilly on the naked skin, and on shaky limbs I clamber up, dragging the sheet behind me. I don't know if I'm in danger, these people, yes they cared for me, but their intentions remain unknown. I have to get out of this room. The walls seem to get smaller, suffocating me.

I make my way out the door, peaking out to make sure the coast is clear. There are no noises as I fumble through the hallway, no sound of life. My breathing is heavy and seems tenfold in the quiet space. I'm quickly wearing myself out, and I stop in the middle of the stairs to grasp the railing and collect myself.

I pass a living room that looks well lived in, and a quaint old fashion sitting room. I stop and admire it, I can almost feel all the family love in it, where a daughter had sat on the sofa, and a proper Southern mother sipped her ice tea in the armchair by the cheery windows. It makes my heart ache with loss, so I stumble forward and try to block out the memories of my family trying to make their way in. There was no point in reminiscing. It wasn't the time. Nostalgia was just as dangerous as the dead in this world. Right now I have to get to the bottom of where I am, and what to do next.

After a few minutes of slowly making my way through the house, I think I have found the entrance, a heavy large door. At this point I'm drained, and I curse to myself for being foolish enough to waste my small amount of energy. I can't be comfortable until I know what's going on though, and with that thought I pull open the door and am instantly blinded with sun. I feel like I haven't been touched by the sun for years by the way it burns, but I go outside anyway, one hand trying to shield my eye's from the glaring rays.

The world begins to unfold as my eyes adjust. People are doing daily activities, men and women alike. Its been a while since I've seen so many people in one place, _alive._ They act as if we aren't in constant danger of being eaten. Women cook eggs in a small circle, the site of food makes my mouth salivate, talking quietly. Some men are gathered near a rusty pick up, pointing at something laid out on the hood, looking intent and determination is written in their features. One who speaks aggressively, I can't make out his words from here, sticks out. He has the air of being a leader, and wears a police officers attire. The beginnings of a beard mark his chin, and I can make out the worry lines in his face.

An abrupt wave of tiredness comes over me, and my knees buckle as my ankles shake, ready to give out. I reach my hand out to steady myself on the rail, but miss and stumble back into the door. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, trying to regain myself. These people can't see me so weak. I have to appear stronger than I really am, so they can't think they can dispose of me quickly. If there's one thing I've learned in this new world so far, it's survival of the fittest, so I better get my shit together.

Apparently, I'm not doing a good job of keeping my wits about me, because a voice sounds to my left, "You got a lot of questions ta answer, sister." I recognize the harsh tone, and my gaze snaps up to those baby blues that found me in the woods. I guess he wasn't a figment of my imagination, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello again! I'm sorry it's been over a week since my last update, I was staying at my boyfriend's for a week and had no way of writing! I plan to update more frequently, though.

I just wanted to say again, thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I appreciate everything, especially reviews. They give me so much inspiration. I only hope you guys still like where this is going.

And, to my reviewer, NerdySierra XP, I couldn't PM you back, but thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I'm just as excited as you are for them, and I hope I don't disappoint!

Enjoy!

* * *

We all sit in a haphazard circle surrounded by tents, a dozen people scrutinizing me. I've never liked being the center of attention, to have everyone's eyes on you. Too much pressure. This was currently the case though, the group I have seemed to become intertwined with staring at me with hungry gazes, wanting to know all the details on how I've ended up around their camp fire. They want to know if I'm a threat, if I'm danger to their little patchwork end of the world family. I don't blame them, if I had anybody left...I would interrogate anyone to wander in.

I still haven't learned all their names, nobody seemed to want to introduce themselves, to give anything away before I did. I would normally be irked by this, simply bad manners, _if_ I have gave them my name already. Which I haven't.

The sheriff is the first to speak, "Well miss..." he pauses, staring at me expectantly.

"Pippa," I say curtly, looking him in the eyes as I reply. There goes them not knowing my name.

"Pippa. I'm Rick Grimes," he leans forward as he speaks, clasping his hands on his knees, "and this is my family and group." He nods to the woman next to him, a lanky middle aged lady who stares at me from under her lashes, not wanting to meet my gaze. I can tell from the way she turns her body away from me that she doesn't want me here. "I take it introductions are in order. This is my wife, Lori." My presumptions that she is his wife are correct as he places a hand on her boney knee. She doesn't bother to say hello or offer any pleasantries so I withhold the same. I'm not going to be nice if I'm not treated as such. Despite my comment on bad manners, they really don't mean shit anymore. What's the point of worrying if you'll offend anyone these days? Lori certainty didn't.

"That's Carol, and beside her, Andrea." Carol is a woman who looks older than she probably is, I'm sure no thanks to her buzzed hair and years of worry and pain etched into her face. She smiles slightly, a small polite one, but a smile nonetheless, so I smile back. I hope it doesn't look like a grimace as much as it feels. It's hard to appear friendly when you're surrounded by people you don't know and making you feel like a mouse cornered by a cat. Or in this new world, a human cornered by a walker.

Andrea has her arm's crossed, and a hard look set into her features, looking me up and down. Another woman in this group judging me. The notion is enough to make me scoff, really. Could they not see that I was blatantly smaller than them? They could over power me. The fact the _I _could intimidate this tall and toned blonde is laugh worthy. Maybe if I took a running leap like a god damn flying squirrel could I knock her down. And that's a big _maybe._

"Then you have Shane," Rick says, pointing at a large, imposing man that hasn't taken his gaze off me since I took my seat. His head is shaved, and his dark eyes are calculating. He intimidates me, like he's trying to decide what to do about me, except, if I don't meet his acceptance, I won't like the outcome. Inadvertently, I straighten and square my shoulders when I meet his glare. It will take a lot more then a gorilla of a man to get me running. I've learned to hold my own these days, and by the looks of it, I could probably outsmart the oaf any day.

"That's Glenn there," Glenn is an Asian man who look's sweet and around my age, "and T-Dog next to him." T-Dog has a bandage like me on his dark forearm, and another intimidating build. They sure picked the football team for this group.

"Next to you is Dale," Rick introduces the man sitting next to me, the only person here that wanted the chair by my side. I turn to get a better look at him, and instantly I like him. He doesn't stare at me with distrust and suspicion, but with earnest curiosity. He reminds me of my grandpa.

"Nice to meet you, Pippa, I'm Dale Horvath." He says with a genuine upturn of his mouth, reaching out and cupping my hand that was resting on my leg in his. The motion was innocent and gentle, a welcoming touch as if to say, _I'm on your side. _

"Dale, the pleasure is all mine," I say, sending him a smile of my own. He pats my hand twice, before pulling away.

"And you've met Daryl, obviously," Rick says, pulling my attention away from Dale. He's looking over his shoulder, staring at the only one standing in the back. Daryl. He's chewing on the side of his fingernail, giving me the evil eye. If looks could kill.

He stands tall and imposing, crossbow thrown over his shoulder. Ripped sleeves and leather vest.

Oh yes, I've _met _Daryl.

_"You got a lot of questions ta answer, sister." I recognize the harsh tone, and my gaze snaps up to those baby blues that found me in the woods. I guess he wasn't a figment of my imagination, after all. _

_ He's peering down at me, a look on his face that was all but welcoming. What do I do? I can't think of anything to say, so I just slide down the back of the door, landing with a huff on the floorboards. I'm tired, completely drained from my small adventure through the house. Even the idea of speaking seems exhausting._

_ "What?" Is all I manage to stutter out, tightening my grip on the sheet still wrapped around me._

_ "Stop playin' dumb! Been waitin' two days for ya to get ya ass awake," __**Two days?!**__, "and now it's time for you to cough up what ya were doin' out in the woods," he snarls at me. _

_ His attitude rubs me the wrong way, and even though I have an angry man who could easily slap some sense into me, I can't help but throw some attitude back his way._

_ "I don't have to tell you shit!" I could actually care less telling him what I was doing in the woods, I just don't appreciate his way of asking me. Does he really expect any other reaction from me?_

_ I can almost see his anger rise as he crosses the small space between us. Immediately I cower backwards, trying to inch away. My mouth always got me in trouble when I was younger, and I obviously haven't learned my lesson. But, I never back down. That might be the only reason I'm still alive this long._

_ "Come here, girl!" He barks, reaching down and snatching my skinny wrist in his firm grip, yanking me up in a swift motion. I gasp, not expecting him to pull me to my feet and I stumble a little. I barely catch my sheet with my other hand, almost losing my makeshift dress._

_ "Let go!"I yell, pulling backwards. I can feel my wrist strain under the tug o' war. _

_ "I told ya, you have questions ta answer, we ain't got time for ya to sit on yer ass all day long!" His southern accent grows heavy with each sentence, no doubt from his heated emotions growing._

_ "Maybe if you let me go, I would gladly tell you, ever think of that?!" I growl, staring him hard in the eyes. My green iris's meet his blue, both trying to burn holes in the others. It takes all I have to stay on my feet, fatigue growing every second. If I'm being honest, his hand snaked around my wrist might be the only thing keeping me up._

_ "So ya can take off runnin'? I ain't dumb, girl!" He says, taking a few steps back, dragging me with him. _

_ "Yeah? You could have fooled me," I spit back, trying to dig my heels into the wood. He easily __over took my slight frame, towering over me, and I only slowed him down a fraction._

_ "Is that anyway to talk to the person who saved yer ass? I coulda left ya crawlin' through the dirt as that walker had ya for breakfast!" He retorts. He's no longer trying to drag me down the stairs, but getting right in my face. I can't move back, his fierce stare leaving me immobilized. A flash of him leaning over me with his halo of sun assaults my memory. _

_ "Yeah, some angel you are, huh?" I scoff, remembering the fleeting moment I thought he was an angel._

_ His brow raises a tic, something flashing through his eye's that I can't place. His eyes rake my entire face for a moment, and just like that he goes back to his scowl. Something I said had registered with him. He takes another step closer, slowly, as if with intention, "I ain't no angel, far from it, you best remember it. Don't expect me to save yer ass again," he drawls out, looking me hard in the eyes, emphasis with every word._

_ A small shiver goes down my spine at his speech. I can't look away. He's left me speechless. So, I try to take one small step closer, craning my neck up so I can reach his gaze, all I can muster is a weak glare. I must look like a feeble little mouse, trying to stand up to resplendent lion._

_ "Trust me, hell will freeze over before I go running to you for help." I tell him, shaking off the speechlessness. _

_ He opens his mouth, but before he can say what he's thinking, someone opens the screen door. _

_ "Daryl, let her go. She's in no shape to be running around, let alone be interrogated by you." My head snaps to the side, and I see an older man standing in the door way. His hair is white as snow, and he's starring disapprovingly at 'Daryl'. So that is his name. Daryl fit him._

_ "She got questions ta answer!" Daryl's voiced raises. _

_ "She needs to rest, is what she needs to do. I'll let you know when shes up to talking." His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. I throw a smug smirk at Daryl, which only seems to make him angrier. He gives me a last long hard look before letting my wrist go, which I rub in my hands, and storming off down the stairs mumbling something that sounded like, "Stupid bitch," and, "old man," under his breath._

That was a day before, I had spent the entire time cooped up in the little room, my only company being Hershel, who I had found was the one who healed my wounds, when he was checking up on me, and Patricia. It wasn't long before I was forced to come out here and finally answer their burning questions. You would think I was a damn celebrity or something.

"Enough with this small talk shit," Daryl calls out, stalking forward closer to the group, "it's time for ya to get talkin'." He stops by Ricks side, crossing his arms and giving me his signature glare.

"Daryl, calm down." Rick says, looking up and sharing a look with Daryl. At least someone here had some manners. "Pippa," Rick turns his attention back to me, "I don't want to force you to talk, but we do have questions, and we would feel a lot more comfortable with you around if you could answer them." He finishes, looking at me softly but firmly.

It was time to get talking.


End file.
